


The One Night In April Affair

by nickovetch



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 13:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2430806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickovetch/pseuds/nickovetch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April Dancer can compete with the boys in Section Two in nearly every way; skill, courage, deception and appetite. Every kind of appetite...</p>
<p>Read along as she takes Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin for the ride of their lives, so to speak. She's just one of the boys!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Night In April Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Avery11 for the sumptuous artwork. Fireworks, indeed!

 

 

 

 

 

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/nickovetch/6859394/1002/1002_original.jpg)

 

  

The coded knock came at exactly seven-thirty. His guest was always punctual. It seemed to be a thing with Section Two agents. When a fraction of a second separated life from death, the rest of their lives seemed to be governed by the same invasive clock. Not that he would complain; he’d been looking forward to the evening for a week now. He set the bottle of merlot on his worn Formica table, and checked the peephole by habit. He nearly laughed out loud when he looked directly into the eyeball of April Dancer. He pulled the door open, bowed low and guided her entrance with a flourish of his hand. April laughed, her rich contralto causing him to smile back at her.

“‘What large eyes you have,’” he quoted, and she answered, “‘The better so see you with, my dear.’” She passed him a brown bag, loaves of warm French bread poking out the top. “ _Mmm_ , I know what to do with these,” he said and set the bag next to the wine.

“And I know what to do with these,” she said, pulling him to her with his tie and kissing him with her soft lush lips. The bread and the wine were forgotten as another banquet opened up before them. April licked along the edge of his lips and pulled the bottom one into hers, bathing it with her tongue and sucking the wetness from his mouth.

Illya Kuryakin encouraged her aggression by pulling her into his chest and wrapping his corded forearms around her, plunging his own tongue deeply into her mouth, working one of his thighs between hers, allowing her to feel his erection grinding against her pubis. April answered by hiking up her skirt, hooking her ankle around his calf, then balanced her slight weight on his thigh muscle, riding him.

Kuryakin groaned, feeling her heat against his skin and smelling her arousal. His own was uncomfortable against his button fly, but he had to taste her, now. He arched back from her just enough to pull his hands across her chest and take the sweater with him, practically yanking it off her in his haste. He kissed an apology to the swollen lips, and then put his mouth to better use. He rasped his tongue against the fabric of her lace bra, noting the lavender color briefly, wetting the fabric and watching it darken to mauve with his saliva, watching, too, the dark nipple hardening under his touch. April gasped and slitted her eyes, bending up into his mouth. He gave the other nipple his attention and suckled it, using his fingers to brush the twin, wanting them both at attention. After satisfied they were both guests at this party, Illya suckled his way up April’s neck, licking and nuzzling at the tender skin, her perfume a flowery taste in his mouth. He traveled slowly up her neck, pausing to suck against the beat of her pulse in her jugular, hearing her growl, the sound reverberating against his tongue.

He inhaled the scent of her, tickling underneath her ear with his hot breath, swirling around her ear lobe and breathing into the canal, then biting her lobe sharply, using the distraction to pop open her bra. _Thank God for front-latching bras_ he thought, before reversing his course down her skin, her neck, and finally to his prize. He took a quick moment to gaze at her breasts heaving with her respirations, her creamy pink skin flushed and dotted with sweat beads. “ ** _April_** ,” he whispered reverently, and lowered his mouth to her.

She shuddered as he came to her, mouth working her fevered skin, nipples so hard they hurt beneath his onslaught. He would lick one, blow cool air on the other and then switch his attentions. His hands were full of her, his mouth and senses, too, and when his tongue swept across the valley between her peaks, he pushed the soft globes together into the wetness he’d left, bringing the nipples closer together and allowing him to suckle them both faster, deeper, with little lapses between.

Dancer tried to suck in a deep breath, and surrendered to the feelings swamping her, sighing and letting her head fall forward onto Illya’s soft locks, feeling the motions of his hands and mouth, his head bobbing to the rhythm. As soon as he felt her capitulation, he redoubled his efforts, laving and rasping against her sensitive flesh, humming against the nerve-endings relentlessly. She sucked his hair into her mouth, nibbling on the ends, wanting to have him, any part of him, in her mouth or her body. When she felt his teeth tugging on her nipples, she tensed, breath coming out in a gust as she cried, “ _ **Illya**_!” giving him both a benediction and a warning.

He felt the change in her, tension coiling along her nerve-endings like electricity, and he moved against her, continuing his ministrations to her breasts, but adding his hand at the juncture of her thighs where they were rocking against the hard muscle of his. He slipped two fingers into her, and flicked against her clit with his thumb, then curled the digits inside her moist heat, triggering her as surely as he would detonate a bomb. She clutched at his shoulders, moaning into his hair and he felt her rippling orgasm against his fingers, his thigh as she came hard, spasming and thrusting against his wriggling fingers. He smiled against her breasts as an errant thought flitted across his mind. There was a reason he’d been kept at Survival School after graduation. He was good at making things detonate—April was no exception.

He held her sweating body flush against his as she came down from her peak. She breathed heavily, still balanced on his leg, shivering with aftershocks. She rested her head on his shoulder, kissing along his neck, tugging the ends of the tie apart and nosing into the patch of hair at his center. It was her turn to lick and suck his small nipples, turning them hard and puckering the flesh around them. He moaned, tilting his head back, giving her more room. She pressed the advantage, kissing down the line of blond hair that disappeared into the waistband of his Levis, stopping there and delving into his belly button with her busy tongue, circling the pucker and then diving inside. Illya whimpered, his imagination filling in the blanks as to her true destination.

April smiled against his belly, and slipped one small hand inside the front of his jeans, popping open one of the buttons on his fly. She slid slowly off Illya’s leg as she moved lower down his body, her hand rubbing slowly against the hardness there. Another button parted the 'v' of his pants and displayed Illya’s lack of underwear. The curly blond hair spilled out, and the lessening of the pressure against his erection caused the Russian to sigh in relief, at least until April grasped him, her hand curling around his cock. A different sort of pressure made itself known then, and he took a deep breath, prepared to endure it.

He looked down his body to watch April as she stroked him, the tip of his shaft visible at the opening of his jeans, foreskin still covering the glans. Her tanned hand stood out against the white skin of his belly and the pink-tinged color of his lengthening cock. Another button let loose, and April drew out his erection as a charmer draws out a snake, tugging at the length of him, sliding her other hand underneath, cupping his balls in their sac, pulling the jeans down as she unwrapped her prize. His cock bobbed free of the restraining fabric, the shaft expanding and drawing closer to his body as it did so. As he hardened, his foreskin pulled back, exposing the dark pink color of his cockhead, riveting April’s attention to it. Clear fluid bubbled from the exposed tip, able to ooze out now that it wasn’t constrained by the heavy jeans.

April glanced up at Illya’s face, catching his eyes and watching the pupils dilate until his eyes were nearly black with desire. He watched as she winked at him, then slipped her mouth over the tip of him, sucking the heady and uniquely male scent of her lover into her mouth, savoring the taste. She felt the head expand in her mouth, drops of pre-cum dripping onto her nimble tongue. Illya cried out at the feeling, watching April’s red lips suckling more of his phallus into her hot mouth. His cock twitched against her lips and he had to close his eyes to stop the sensations from swamping his tenuous control.

He took deep slow breaths, wanting this to last as long as possible. He thought he had succeeded until April did something with her right hand, and then his eyes popped open as he felt her finger slide across his perineum, wet with her own juices. She slid down his shaft as deeply as she could and then pushed her finger into his opening, feeling for the nub of his prostate and scratching her fingernail across it.

Illya wailed then, all thought of going slow burned out of him by a primal spiral of delight ripping across him. He filled his hands with April’s auburn hair, needing to keep himself anchored to the earth somehow. He thrust into her waiting mouth an instant before his cock spurted down her throat, her muscles deep-throating him, massaging his shaft as he poured himself into her. She still cupped the tight testicles, feeling them drawing up as he orgasmed. He grunted with each pulse of semen, eyes rolled back into his head, knees barely able to hold him up. As the last jet of his seed left him, he slumped, leaning against Dancer’s sturdy body, unable to do anything else. He stayed on his feet by sheer mulish will. April pulled free of his ass, but kept his cock in her mouth until she felt it deflate, drawing slowly out of her naturally. He slid out of her with an obscene pop, and they both groaned aloud at the loss.

For once, April was glad Illya’s apartment was so small, for now she merely had to turn his body and push against him, toppling him onto the fire sale couch he’d gotten when he first came to U.N.C.L.E. She followed, watching his legs tangle in his jeans, falling bonelessly to land heavily, the air whooshing out of his lungs. She lay across him, her own orgasm making her drowsy and sated. Illya kicked his jeans off his legs, opening them and making room for April between them. He rubbed her back as they drowsed, coming back to normalcy. Her firm breasts warmed his chest, their weight feeling like a homecoming for him. After a bit, he felt her lower body rubbing against his, slow sensuous circles making him take notice, and soon he was pushing up against her, his cock beginning to fill again.

She moved up to his face, kissing the pouty lips and pushing her breasts into his warm hands. He still wore his dress shirt, she wore her skirt, but the rest of their bodies were bare, making it easy to caress and encourage. The frantic need from earlier was gone, and they took their time with each other, kissing and touching, stroking the need, but not allowing it to spiral out of control. Illya was fully hard, pressing against April’s clit, and he reached underneath her and took his cock in his hand, stropping himself against her wetness, waiting for her to take him inside. She didn’t seem to be in a hurry, so he coated himself in her juices and then pushed between her cheeks, sliding back and forth, mimicking the act he was preparing for. She groaned and moved against him, helping him ride her ass, shivering each time he slid across her pucker.

“April?” He thrust again. “Do you want me to…there?” Just airing the question caused his cock to harden even more, and he felt her gooseflesh rise against him.  

April rose up on her elbows, one on either side of him, and grinned. "Well, I had something…similar…in mind, but not quite…that.”

Illya frowned, and shook his head. “What?” He used the new position to stroke her breasts, running his fingertips across the underside, hefting the weight of them in his hands.

She sat up, pinning his erection against her mons, and he moaned low and slow. She gave him a wicked smile and then asked, “Do you trust me?”

He rolled his eyes, and then slapped her ass. “April, I just spent myself in your mouth. It’s a little late to ask that question.”

“Silly boy.” She toyed with his chest hair, stroking her nails through the soft blonde fur. “I have an adventure in mind. Do you trust me to come along for the ride?” She rolled her hips against him for emphasis and he sucked in air.

“Yes. Anything. Anywhere,” he answered, his need growing.

“All right.” She rolled off him, gathering their clothes and threw his jeans at him. “Get dressed.”

“ _What_? Why?”

She slipped into her sweater, not bothering with the bra. “Lose the tie; just get your jeans on.”

Illya looked sadly at his erection, pointing it out to her. “That might not be possible.”

She walked up to him, and took his sac in her hand, pushing up and back, making him wince and whistle through his teeth at her.

“That hurt, April.” His cock wilted from the suddenness of the act, and he glared at her.

“But now you can get into your jeans, Illya.” She leaned into him and said, “Don’t worry, _lubimaya_ , I plan on getting you out of them soon.”

“ _Chort vozmi_ ,” he complained, but buttoned his shirt and jeans anyway. April slipped into her sandals and grabbed the bread, placing the bottle of wine into Illya’s hands. “We’re going out? Now?”

“Trust me, _Illyusha._ ” She took his hand and led him out of the apartment, taking the stairs one flight down. She stopped on the landing and he went past her, ready to take another flight to the lobby.

She tugged his hand and he turned, puzzled. “Not that way, Illya. Here.” She went down the hallway, passing two apartments and stopped in front of the third.

Illya goggled at her. “You’ve got to be kidding…”

April knocked on the door, and waited. After a few seconds, the door opened, and Napoleon Solo stood there, looking at the pair. “April. Illya. What’s up?”

April smiled and looked at Illya, who appeared poleaxed. He shook his head, but said nothing, allowing April to run with it.

“Napoleon. May we come in?”

He opened the door, and said, “Of course.”

They entered Solo’s apartment, and April gave him the bread, nudging Illya with her elbow until he blinked and then took the wine to the kitchen.

“April?” Solo was clearly puzzled by their behavior, but too much a gentleman to ask. “Did we have a date that I’ve forgotten?”

Illya returned from the kitchen and sat on the couch, letting April do the talking. He wouldn’t know what to say, anyway.

“No, Napoleon, not in so many words.” She gestured to the living room and Solo sat at the other end of the sofa, and April took one of the leather club chairs opposite. The boys looked at each other, and Illya shrugged. Napoleon looked comfortable in a pair of brown cords and light gold polo shirt. A hint of five-o-clock shadow darkened the white skin of his face.

April cleared her throat, and got their attention. “You know the arrangement we have. I see both of you on a regular basis, and in return we all get some stress-relieving recreation, and no one is compromised or expected to be involved in any…entanglements.”

“Uh, huh.” Solo looked confused, wondering what had changed. He speared Illya with a look, and the Russian said, “Don’t look at me. I didn’t do anything.”

“Now, Napoleon, this was my idea, don’t blame Illya for anything.” Illya beamed, off the hook for once.

“Smart-ass Russian,” Solo said. He didn’t like being behind the eight ball for any reason.

April wagged her finger at him. “ _Ah_ , _ah_ , _ah_ , Napoleon. Just listen.”

Illya sniggered and then hid the sound behind a discreet cough.

April glared at him, then began again. “I’ve been enjoying our time together immensely. The two of you are, _how shall I put this_ , imaginative to the extreme. You are both extremely giving lovers and have never made me regret our agreement.” She crossed her long legs, giving them both an eyeful before she continued. She watched Solo as he swallowed once or twice. Smiling, she continued. “However, it occurred to me that I was missing out on a large part of the equation. You,” she gestured to Illya, “are hot.” She pointed to Solo. “You are hot.” She cleared her throat, and finished, “And, we all know that I am hot.” She held back the smile that threatened. “So, I’m hypothesizing that taking the two of you and squaring the hotness would make for a rather enjoyable evening for all of us.”

Ever the scientist, Illya put two and two together and came up with a _ménage a trois_. His eyebrows rose as he waited for Napoleon to catch up.

Solo stared at April as if she had grown another head. “Are you serious? You really want to…to…” He looked at Illya, who was now wearing an ear-to-ear smile.

“Yes, Napoleon. I really want to…to. And don’t be so surprised. I know the two of you are occasional lovers. I see the way you look at each other, touch each other. Don’t worry, I approve--whole-heartedly.”

Solo was gob-smacked. He’d heard the gossip about the two of them for years. It didn’t bother him. But he never suspected April knew about them. The Old Man knew, of course. Nothing got by him. But their fellow Section Two agents…that could be problematic.

April saw the play of emotions across Solo’s face, and she hurried to assuage him. “Don’t worry, Napoleon. I’m your friend. And I’m a woman. If I hadn’t been sleeping with both of you, I doubt that I’d have put it together. No one else would, not with any certainty, anyway. You know how the gossip mill runs, anyway. At any given time, fifty rumors are running rampant, and only one or two of them is true. And no one ever knows which of those they are.”

She gave them time to digest it. She saw them both come to the same conclusion, at about the same time. Illya, with his time in England and France, got there first, but to his credit, Solo wasn’t too far behind.

Napoleon looked at her, and then asked, “What do you want us to do?”

April growled. She leaned back in her chair and said, “Each other.”

She wished she could burn the look on the boys’ faces into her memory for all time. She wanted to laugh, but then Napoleon turned to his partner, and her glee turned to lust in a nano-second at the expression on his face. “Illya,” he said, “you heard what the lady requested. Are you okay with this?” Napoleon took Illya’s face in his hand and stroked softly across it.

Illya leaned into the caress and closed his eyes as Solo closed the distance between them, ending it with a kiss. They sat turned toward each other on the leather couch, knees touching, hands and lips exploring gently. Illya slid his hand underneath Solo’s polo shirt, caressing the smooth skin there with just his fingertips, and ghosted across his nipples, causing the older man to shiver and groan into Illya’s open mouth. Napoleon’s hands were busy unbuttoning Illya’s shirt, distracting him with a questing tongue long enough to pull the shirt down along his shoulders, stopping and bunching the fabric at Illya’s elbows, trapping his arms against his sides. Solo twisted the fabric and pulled Kuryakin’s wrists together behind the small of his back where he could hold them against the smaller man’s body with one fist. This effectively arched Illya’s upper body into closer proximity to Napoleon’s, and allowed the American to control the seduction, to take Illya apart piece by piece. The stress on his arms caused Illya’s chest muscles to flex, sweat breaking out along his pectorals and intercostals, delineating his beauty and making Solo salivate to get at him.

April sat up in her chair, the picture before her moving her toward the two men as a magnet would draw metal. She grabbed the arms of the chair and unconsciously rubbed her palms across the surface, forward and back, forward and back, matching the way Napoleon swept his splayed palm across Illya’s skin. She was wet from her earlier play, and watching two gorgeous men making love three feet from her taxed her self-control. She sat at the very edge of the chair, stifling the moan that threatened to slip out of her, trying not to distract the players in the drama unfolding center stage.

Solo used his free hand to sweep across the taut body and trail up the tense column of Illya’s neck, slipping behind his head and threading his fingers into the cornsilk strands of his partner’s hair. Once his hand was full he pulled down, making Illya’s head tilt up, his chin jutting out, a position that would be painful for someone without the flexibility that the classically-trained Russian possessed. Illya moaned at his vulnerability, only his complete trust in his lover allowing Napoleon free rein. Solo sucked at Illya’s Adam’s apple, hard enough to be bruising, marking him as his own. He did the same thing to either side of the swelling, making Illya writhe and twist beneath him. A tear slid from the corner of Illya’s eye, the strain he was under showing, and Napoleon followed its path gently with his lips, kiss-licking it away until he reached Illya’s eyes. The familiar blue was nearly gone, his desire dilating the pupils until just the rim of them was circled in color. Illya closed his eyes just before Napoleon’s tongue bathed them both in soft moisture, kissing the eyelids and releasing his grasp on his hair. Illya dropped his head in relief, and Solo rewarded his trust, apologizing for his neediness by taking the full lips in a tender kiss.

Napoleon pressed Illya down onto the couch with his heavier body, allowing him to stretch his legs out under him, keeping Illya’s arms trapped beneath him but freeing his own hand. He settled against him, pulling one knee up and against his crotch, pushing against the bulge of his erection. He kissed Illya’s shoulders, following the line of his collarbone with his tongue, licking into the notch in the center and then sucking the fine chest hair at his sternum. He inhaled, smelling his lover’s sweat-scent, and then roamed across the flat breast, sucking and pulling the male nipple into his hot mouth.

“ _Ahhh_ , _Napoleon_ ,” he whimpered, arching into the talented tongue, pushing up with his hips at the same time, wanting more contact with his body. Solo worked across to the other nipple, using his teeth this time, rubbing the side of his knee against Illya’s trapped cock.

The white skin and pale hair of the fair Russian contrasted sharply with the rich brown leather of the couch under him, and Napoleon’s dark–clothed body stretched atop him. April thought she had never seen a more glorious sight. She recanted as soon as she saw Solo’s brunet head moving down Illya’s pale belly, his quick tongue snaking out to pierce his navel repeatedly, making Illya growl with need. Whereas April had taken her time baring Illya to her, Solo merely yanked the button fly roughly, popping them all open at once, freeing Illya’s erection and swooping in for the kill. He pulled the foreskin down with one hand, and sucked the length of him into his mouth, taking him deeply until his nose was buried in Illya’s crotch.

April, being a mere mortal, couldn’t stop the groan that sprang from her throat, low and needy, watching the action play out. _They are just so damned beautiful_ , she thought, hoping she could hold off, her own desire peaking just by seeing them together. She ran her hands across her hard nipples, touching herself because she had to touch something. She felt the stirring in her loins, and backed off, not wanting to come before the main event. Napoleon looked up upon hearing her, his mouth still full of Illya. His dark eyes met hers and he growled around his prize, making Illya buck hard against him, crying out his name.

“Napoleon, stop, please. _Stop_ …” Illya’s face was sheened with sweat, his brow furrowed from the force of his concentrated control. He opened his eyes, and seeing his cock buried in his partner’s mouth nearly was his undoing. Solo seemed to understand, for he pulled off Illya, slowly sucking as he ran his tongue along the underside on the way. There was a soft pop as he released the rosy head, licking the slit with a broad swipe in passing. He used his hand to pull the foreskin back over the crown, jacking Illya gently, using his lips and tongue to roll his balls one at a time in the golden-fuzzed sac.

Napoleon turned his head and regarded April, watching her, smelling her. “He tastes like you, April.” He ran his tongue across his lips as he said it, making April close her eyes and sigh. He turned his attention back to the Russian, pulling the jeans from his hips, and growled again as he encountered the wet patch on Illya’s thigh. Looking directly into the fever-bright hazel eyes of Dancer, he tongued the damp place, licking and sucking the material, tasting April’s juices, augmented with Illya’s underlying musk.

Illya’s head fell back on the couch, and he groaned aloud with his appreciation of the wanton display. He felt Solo tug his jeans the rest of the way off, leaving him naked and panting. When Solo’s hands begin to slowly massage their way back up his muscled legs, he surged upward, meeting Napoleon’s thick chest with his own, crushing them together and taking Solo’s lips in his own. He pushed inside greedily, sucking Napoleon’s tongue with the circle of his mouth, fellating it as he would his cock, rubbing the tips of their tongues together. Once he had Napoleon’s attention, he pulled back, took his head in his hands, twined his blunt fingers into the thick short hair, leaned into his neck and spoke softly into the flushed ear of his lover.

“Napoleon, you’ve had an April appetizer.” He pushed his fingers into the swollen mouth, letting him suckle the residue of April from him. “Why don’t you try the main course?” He pulled the wet fingers away, grabbed the hem of Solo’s shirt and pulled it off the sweaty torso. Illya trailed his saliva-coated digits across Napoleon’s nipples, then blew cool air across them, watching them peak and grow beneath his touch. He unbuckled Solo’s belt, worked the zipper down and slid his large hand inside the crotch, stroking along the line of hard flesh within. Solo sucked in a quick breath at the touch, arched into the hand, and said, “Hold that thought, _Illyusha_.” Illya pulled free and sat back against the couch, ready for the floor show.

Napoleon stood, leaving his slacks open, pulled down so his hip bones were exposed, the bulge of the davids clearly defined. His smooth chest was thickly muscled, his tanned skin gleaming with sweat, pecs delineated with stiff and dark brown nipples. He stalked toward April, watching her eyes dilate at his approach, the sweater covering her own hardened nipples, her skirt hiked tantalizingly high. He knelt before her, placing his hands on her thighs, running them up and down the slim length of them, leaning in to kiss her gently, feeling her come closer, kissing him back, running her tongue-tip around the edge of his lips. She tasted sweet, her lush mouth juicy as they fed from each other, suckling and laving, tongues entwined.

While continuing his oral onslaught, Solo took hold of April’s hip with one hand, then slowly slid his other up the inside of her thighs, feeling the heat of her before he possessed her slick wetness, her slit dripping with arousal. She moaned into his mouth when he touched her intimately, tickling her labia, stroking up and down her clit. “Going commando, April? You _dirty_ girl.” As he said the word “dirty,” he pushed two fingers inside her, hearing her gasp against him, her body tightening around him. “Take off the sweater, Dancer. Let me see you,” he purred against her ear, licking the inside and drawing her lobe in with his teeth. Her body shuddered, his voice and hands sparking a bone-deep arousal, her blood singing with it. She drew her top off, her hair bunching and then billowing out around her as she dropped it on the floor. Napoleon eased out of her, reached up to her waist and unzipped the placket of her skirt, slowly peeling her out of it leaving her nude. His eyes roamed over her curves, his gut tightening as his cock jerked inside his jockeys. He closed his eyes and then said softly, “Illya? Come keep her warm for me.”

Dancer remembered there was another person in the room, and cut her eyes to Illya on the couch. He was playing with himself, slowly masturbating, eyes glittering as he watched his two favorite people pleasuring each other. He stood, the lure of Solo’s velvety voice drawing him to them both. His cock stretched taut against his flat belly, oozing from the head, needy. He watched April watching him, and slid his fist slowly down and then back up his length, running his thumb along the slit, coating his fingertips in his juices. Napoleon’s eyes didn’t leave April’s, enjoying the look on her face as she gazed at Illya. The Russian moved across the rug, going behind the chair and caressed Dancer’s face with his wet fingers, hissing as she drew them into her mouth and licked his pre-cum from them. He let his free hand delve lower, cupping one full breast and kneading it, tickling across her fat nipples. Napoleon smiled at his partner and reached up, cupping the other breast with his hand. Illya yelped as Dancer bit his finger, the dual stimulation making her twitch. He pulled his fingers free and began to stroke, fondle, and otherwise drive the redhead crazy with his hands.

Napoleon watched them together, watched his hand on Dancer’s pale breast, watched it touch Illya’s, twining their fingers together for a moment, and then he bent his head to the dark auburn hair of April’s thatch. He pushed her legs apart, smelling her essence, and had to taste her, _now_. He opened her lips with his thumbs, kissed her, and ran the tip of his tongue along the edges of her labia, dipping into both sides of her, sucking her juices from her folds, tasting her tang and wild flavor. She bucked against him, but he was ready, pressing her hips down to keep her where he wanted her. He heard her cries of pleasure, but didn’t lift his head, knowing Illya would keep her captive as well. He slid his tongue inside her opening, flicking it back and forth against her walls, then slid up to her clit, bathing it in his saliva and tapping it rapid-fire with his tongue-tip.

She cried aloud at that, writhing underneath both men’s hands and talents, keening, so close. In concert here as with all things, Illya pinched her nipples at the same time Solo bit gently on her clit, and April surged against them both, clamping her thighs against Napoleon’s head, gasping as her orgasm roared through her, her pulses rippling her muscles and letting the boys feel it with her. Illya bent down and took her mouth in a sloppy kiss as she came, stealing her breath, making her dizzy with pleasure. She panted into his mouth, wave after wave of ecstasy still rolling through her. Napoleon kept at her through it all, prolonging her orgasm, feeling her gush of wetness almost as copious as a man coming, licking and taking it into his mouth, savoring her passion. Finally her quivering thighs released the death grip on his head, and she slumped against the chair, spent. Napoleon rocked back on his heels, hands on the arm rests, breathing heavily himself from riding April’s orgasm. He was hard as nails, and he glanced up at Illya, eyes glittering with unspoken need.

Illya bent close to April’s ear, speaking gently to her. “We’re a couple up on poor Napoleon. I think it’s time we evened the score, don’t you, April?” Kuryakin reached across Dancer’s chest, snagged one of Solo’s wrists and hauled him up on his feet, pulling him across her and to his mouth, where he could kiss and lick his way across Solo’s face, sucking the April essence off his skin, tasting her on his lover’s rasp of beard. He didn’t stop until he was clean, while April took advantage of being in the middle of a Kuryakin and Solo sandwich by pressing her very interested mouth against the outline of Solo’s straining phallus. He still wore his slacks, and she mouthed his cock through the fabric making him jump and surge into Illya’s open mouth once more. Illya held his strong shoulders as he kissed Solo, feeling him strum like a live wire, his body primed for release after giving yet not receiving. Kuryakin came around to the front of the chair, still attached to his lover’s mouth, wetly trailing across the jutting chin and suckling his neck. Dancer had her hand inside his pants, curled around his steely erection, pulling along his impressive girth. Solo’s ensuing groan made her shiver, saliva pooling in her mouth at the thought of taking that monster in her mouth. She’d had Solo many times in many different ways, but each time she saw his cock, she marveled at it, his raw beauty and power taking her breath.

Illya must have agreed with her, for he stepped behind Napoleon, running his hands from his shoulders to his hips, wasting no time yanking the slacks down, freeing the heavy erection, gazing down from Solo’s neck to watch it rise arrogantly to his belly button. He helped his partner step out of the slacks and socks, then Solo stood naked, arching into April’s small hand. Kuryakin trailed his hands across the tight abdomen, purposely avoiding the heavy length, whispering, “April,” softly to her, meeting her eyes, telegraphing their need.

“ _Avec plaisir_ ,” she said, scooting forward to the very edge of the chair, taking Napoleon in a firm grip and breathing hotly across the tip. He jerked, every muscle waiting for that singular pleasure, every nerve trying to fire at once in anticipation. Illya held him by his hips, and when Dancer finally, _finally_ closed her mouth around him, Solo’s ensuing surge was aborted by strong arms that kept him from fucking April’s mouth, merely allowing the crown to be engulfed. As turned on as she was, April was still grateful that she could control the depth, knowing she’d have to work up to taking more of him inside.

The sounds coming from Solo were primal; grunts, groans, and carnal sighs that made his lovers want to hear more. April felt blunt fingers stroking her, Illya using her moisture to coat his fingers again. She knew where those powerful digits were going and she moaned around her mouthful, causing Napoleon’s knees to buckle slightly. Illya was there, holding him up with his sure strength, allowing Solo’s head to loll back on his shoulder, giving him access once again to those addicting lips.

Between kisses, Illya spoke gently to Napoleon. “Look at her, _Polya_. Look what she’s doing to you.” His dark head dropped forward enough to see his glistening cock taken inch by thick inch into Dancer’s greedy mouth, her tongue and lips working in concert to take him deeper. She looked into Solo’s chocolate eyes and felt a jolt of affection for her boss and sometime lover, her chest tightening with the emotion. She suckled him harder, deeper, wanting to make it wonderful for him. Just as she had him as deeply as she could handle, as her hands were stroking the rest of him she couldn’t swallow, she felt him stiffen, growing even impossibly longer and thicker as he cried aloud, “ _Illyaaaa_ ….”

“Yes, Napoleon, feel me. Feel me inside you, loving you.” April watched avidly as Solo closed his eyes against the rush of pleasure that swamped him, his ass being expertly pumped and invaded by Kuryakin’s thick fingers. The Russian allowed him some movement, and he pistoned into Dancer’s mouth, needing to move, to thrust, to fuck her willing mouth. With each forward thrust into April, Illya retreated, dragging his pads over Solo’s prostate, and with each withdrawal he embedded himself deeply, dragging the air from Napoleon’s heaving lungs, bringing him closer to blast-off.

For her part, April held on gamely, relaxing her throat muscles so the prodigious cock was welcomed home, and once she felt the rhythm the boys established, she matched it stroke for stroke, swallowing around the massive erection, humming low in her throat. Her eyes were tearing from the strain, but she could do this, would do this for Napoleon. The beleaguered man panted against the inevitable, dark head falling once again to his partner’s shoulder, needing his support and strength now as always.

“I’ve got you, _dushka_. _Ochen krasivy_. Come for us. Come now, _Polya_. Show us your love. Give it all to us.” Illya pushed into Solo hard, one last thrust, sending him over the edge as he knew it would. He stilled then, wanting to feel his lover as he came, the tight channel clamping down on his fingers as the orgasm began.

April felt it start as well, the cockhead deep in her throat swelling remarkably larger as it began to erupt with hot seed, pulsing down her throat as she continued to swallow, working it mercilessly. She kept up with the outpouring at first, but Solo’s emission was voluminous, his need having been stropped razor-sharp by their combined passions. She pulled back slightly, giving her more room and control, and Solo’s semen dribbling out of the corners of her mobile mouth, dripping to run down her convulsing neck. Napoleon grunted with each pulse of his climax, and bellowed like the bull he was as Illya pulled out roughly and then massaged Solo’s constricting balls, encouraging them to deliver their load. The pulses continued for another moment and then slowed, one last jet giving up all he had into April.

The only sound in the darkening apartment was Napoleon panting hard, trying to stay on his feet, grateful for Illya’s arms around his hips. He was still hard, still buried in Dancer and she rimmed his crown, eking out the last vestiges of his come, licking gently, swabbing the slit. Solo hissed as she caressed his sensitized flesh, nerve endings hyper-excited and still firing erratically. Illya returned to his neck, kissing and sucking, revisiting the red marks he’d left previously, marking Solo as theirs and theirs alone. He knew they could never be exclusive, but these dalliances were the only real encounters that mattered, that touched any of them. They may wish for another reality, but their profession precluded the white picket fence daydream. So they contented themselves with what they could have, and for now, that was Napoleon in his arms, and April loving them both.

Dancer glanced up at the boys plastered against each other and sighed, allowing Solo’s phallus to slip from between her lips, acknowledging the groan that came from the American as it did so. She stood, running her nails along Napoleon’s thighs, trailed up across his groin, his belly, meeting Illya’s hands, squeezing them affectionately before covering the rest of the Soloscape, palming her splayed hands across his pecs, rubbing the hard nubs there. She loved that Solo was hairless, allowing her to swoop in and lick and taste as much of him as she wanted, nothing to get in the way of his olive skin, his sweat and male scent imprinting in her brain. His head was still reclined on Illya, bringing their mouths in closer proximity and she targeted both, kissing the bow-like lips of the Russian first, then taking Solo’s larger mouth with hers.

Illya watched her nuzzling his partner, and slid his face to her neck, licking the wet trails of come from her skin, tasting Napoleon at last, reacquainting himself with the flavor. He encouraged her to turn toward him and sucked a wad of ejaculate from her chin, then touched Solo’s cheek with his tongue, waiting for him to meet him, bathing the inside of his mouth with the semen, letting Solo taste their combined essence. Illya’s hard cock pulsed at the taste and the feel of the three of them, his erection prodding at the crease of Solo’s ass. Napoleon shivered at the intimate touch, and reached around behind them, grasping his lover’s phallus and pulling at the head with his calloused hand. Now Illya groaned, and pumped into the steely grip, eyes closing in gritty need. He opened them when April grabbed a handful of hair from both of them, giving them a quick jerk to remind them it was still her party, her rules. The boys grinned at her sheepishly, Illya asking this time. “What do you want, Dancer? What do you _need_?”

April let go of their heads, sweeping her hands across their faces and reaching down to take one of their hands. She drew them both to her lips, kissing the rough knuckles of both men, licking the callouses hardened by the job and by the weapons they employed. They both smelled of her musk and she tightened her grip, trying to hold her own lust at bay.

She took a deep breath, and answered, “I want what I haven’t seen yet. What I want to see more than anything else.” Both boys watched her intently, their eyes glittering with lust for her and for each other, willing to do anything to please her. She pulled them gently, walking backwards, leading them to Solo’s bedroom, to his incredibly comfortable king-sized bed, large enough for the three of them and their oversized appetence.

Once inside the bedroom, she released their hands and sat on the edge of the bed, then scooted up against the padded headboard. She lay back, crossed her legs and licked her lips watching the men with dilated eyes. “I want…” she paused for a beat, then finished, “to watch the two of you _fuck_.”

From her vantage point, she saw the deliberate obscenity hit the boys like a physical blow, Illya’s cock jerking up, touching his belly as he palmed it, groaning as he closed his eyes for control. Solo’s reaction was more subtle, but she saw his eyes narrow in surprise, the lewdness of hearing her speak such a vulgarity affecting him, pooling low in his gut, arousing him more than he could say. He looked at Illya, then Dancer, unsure of his footing. “How do you want us to…” He made a vague gesture between them and almost, _almost_ blushed.

Dancer chuckled at the look. It wasn’t every day, _hell_ , any day that the Great Napoleon Solo could be flummoxed. Dancer rather enjoyed the power. She didn’t want to get carried away, though, and disrupt the dynamic that the two males had already established, and so she merely shrugged and said, “Whatever you boys want.”

She saw a look pass between her beautiful boys, and shivered in anticipation, knowing that this would be a gift from them to her, one that she would remember and treasure for a lifetime. They came together, their sweaty bodies clinching, hands on each other’s ass, lips locked and tongues roaming.

“ _Bohze moi_ ,” April whispered and Illya smiled against Solo’s lips.

“ _Da_ , _da_ , _bolshoi da_ ,” he agreed. His hard cock was trapped against Solo’s taut abdomen, and he thrust against the smooth skin there. Napoleon snaked his hand between them and grasped the long erection, tightening at the base and not allowing Illya to move. Kuryakin took Solo by one wrist and pulled him toward the bed, toward their audience. Illya released his grip, watching Napoleon’s eyes and letting him dictate the way the drama would unfold. He saw the desire pooling in the familiar brown eyes, and the need behind them. He closed his eyes, telegraphing to Solo that he would follow wherever he led. The implicit trust overwhelmed the older man and he leaned in for a gentle kiss, touching Illya’s face softly with his palm, waiting until the smaller man opened his eyes to read the decision in his own. Napoleon moved to the bed, lying down and opening his legs, making room for his Russian to settle between them.

April gasped quietly, wondering that Solo would take the passive role here, the senior agent seeming like the aggressor in most things. She blinked a couple of times, dissolving some of the preconceived notions she had about the two partners. Napoleon was usually so buttoned down, having to be the boss, to make life and death decisions that wore on him, to be scrupulously careful whom he confided in. April felt so very proud that she was allowed into Solo’s inner circle, glad that Illya was there for him as well.

Right now that trust was never more apparent than in the way the boys held each other, roaming over each other’s bodies with an easy familiarity about what brought them both pleasure. She raised her hands above her head, grasping the headboard, not trusting herself to stay in the wings. Not where these two were concerned.

Illya was still hard, his erection butting against Solo’s pouch, slowly rubbing against the tender skin there. Solo was soft, his earlier orgasm taking some of the edge off, allowing him to concentrate on Illya, his hands roaming over the thin chest, across the soft belly, barely skimming across the pink glans just peeking out of the foreskin. Illya leaned in for a kiss, and the master seductor took his mouth, making love to it, gentling their fervor, allowing time for tenderness to calm their passion.

Dancer sighed watching them, knowing first-hand the power of Napoleon’s sybaritism, how he could sweep away every other worry, disturbance, or encumbrance just by the application of those lips, that tongue. She watched Illya’s body relax into the embrace, his body stopping its movement save for the give and take of his own hungry mouth.

Once satisfied they were ready for the next step, Illya slipped his hand down to take Solo’s soft cock in his hand, squeezing and rubbing, taking it and its master’s measure. Napoleon sighed, relaxed into Illya’s care and let his head drop back to the pillow. Kuryakin smiled at the submission, knowing from experience that while Napoleon was the leader in the boardroom, he preferred to follow in the bedroom, letting someone else take the helm and the weight from his shoulders.

April smiled at the picture before her; Solo’s dark head propped on a white throw pillow, Illya’s pale body atop his darker one, both of their skin translucent with sweat against the dark blue sheets. She watched jealously as Illya trailed his tongue down Napoleon, kissing him, giving him love-bites that would show tomorrow. She almost laughed out loud as the thought hit her. _No wonder Illya wears turtlenecks so often_ …

Any residual humor left her when she watched Illya reach Solo’s phallus. He sucked the head inside his warm mouth, running his tongue around the crown, pulling on it with his lips. He gave it a promissory lick, then roved lower, nosing in the black curls at its root, breathing in the fragrance of his lover’s musk. The heavy balls hung below, and he cupped them in their sac, loving the feel of them in his hands. He suckled them one at a time, drawing them into his mouth carefully, rolling them back and forth across the pivot of his tongue-tip. Solo was breathing faster, trying to lie still and let Illya have his wicked way. He glanced over to April, and reached his hand toward her. She smiled and took it, allowing him the connection and the distraction. He squeezed her hand when Illya took him by the knees, bending them up and folding his body in half, encouraging Solo to hold his own legs back, opening him up, wantonly displayed. April and Napoleon moaned in unison, almost at the end of their self-control.

Grinning at the sound, Illya returned to his work, licking his way up and down the sensitive perineum, feeling Solo tighten against him in anticipation. “Relax, _milii moi_.” Solo obeyed, and he said, “ _Bolshoi_ , _bolshoi_ , _dushka moi_ ,,” then plunged his tongue into the tight pucker beneath him, feeling Solo buck and whimper, the piercing almost more than he could bear. His eyes were tightly closed, his muscles clenched, until Illya breached him again and again, and he had to relax or suffocate. He exhaled, then panted against the ecstasy, opening his eyes to see the fair head bobbing over his groin. He cried out louder this time, and Dancer moved to his head, stroking the sweaty forelock out of his eyes, petting his hair and soothing him.

She watched avidly, mesmerized by the sight. Rivulets of sweat ran down Illya’s face, landing on Solo’s equally sweaty body, their fluids co-mingling on the trip down. Kuryakin used his thumbs to pull the tight aperture further apart, stabbing in even deeper with his thrusting tongue. He spat on his hand, and lubed his middle finger with the moisture, rubbing it against Solo’s opening, pushing in and sliding until he was all the way inside. Solo gasped and pushed against the finger, unable to do much more in the ungainly position. Illya smiled and slid his index finger inside as well, slowly finger-fucking Solo’s anus. He gasped as he felt his own cock trickle moisture down the slit, and knew he was almost out of time. He watched approvingly as Napoleon’s cock filled, the pressure on his prostate making him hard in a hurry. Dancer unconsciously licked her lips at its sudden appearance between the men, the size of it growing as she watched. She had a stray thought while she goggled at the huge rod, wondering if there were any way that Illya could take that beast inside his smaller body, hoping like hell that she would be able to put experience behind fantasy in the near future. She came back to her senses and heard Illya calling her name, the way he smiled at her confirming that he’d called her more than once. _Earth to Dancer_ , she thought, blushing.

Illya’s blond hair was plastered to his head, tufts of the baby-fine hair sticking up in endearing places. He called to her, “Get us ready, April.” He inclined his head to the nightstand, and Dancer knew what he wanted. She opened the small drawer and pulled out the bottle of lubrication Solo kept there. The first time April’d taken Solo’s monster cock inside her, he’d prepared her with it, too, not wanting her to feel any discomfort. Dancer had only one other sexual experience before Solo, and that was at Survival School. Not exactly a romantic start, and she’d asked Solo to show her how it was really done. The girls at HQ had regaled her with Solo stories, telling her she’d never have a better lover. They had talked about his size, too, but she really thought they exaggerated. But the first time she had seen Napoleon naked and aroused, she must have paled, because Solo had been so patient and indulgent with her that night. He hadn’t even wanted penetration, but April had insisted. She remembered how pleasantly sore she’d been the next day, and smiled with the memory.

Illya moved over when April sat on the bed next to them. She held the bottle out to Illya, but he shook his head. “Not me, Dancer. You. You do him.” The glint in his eye made her groan out loud, her hand shaking as she tried to get the cap off. Illya held Solo’s right leg up and April shimmied into the space next to his left, holding him like Illya did, dribbling the liquid lube across Napoleon’s anus, coating her own fingers with it. She dropped the bottle on Solo’s belly and stroked carefully, smearing the oil across his perineum, and with Illya encouraging her, pushed her index finger gently inside Solo’s body. She delved deeply, wanting to prepare him well, and then added a second finger, watching the effect on Solo. She felt the knob of his gland and stroked harder. Solo yelped, and his cock filled completely, slapping against his own abdomen as he clenched.

Illya watched, thinking they were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen, and panted, turning toward Dancer, his own erection dripping with desire, the head fully exposed now. He was beautiful here, too, April thought. Illya was actually longer than Solo, but more slender, the head a pale pink in contrast to Solo’s dark wine phallus. Illya’s testicles were smaller, but a gorgeous dark rose color, and they fit perfectly in her hands. She grasped him now, carefully, knowing he was close, and squirted more of the lube on the snub head, and down the taut column of flesh, anointing his circumference, making him hiss in slit-eyed pleasure. He nodded to her, and she moved back to the headboard, sitting up, watching Illya take his erection in his hand, pumping it once, then twice. He released Solo, ordering him, “Roll over for me.” Solo moved to obey, and Illya slid his arms under him, pulling him up and pushing his knees under him with his own. Illya softened his tone, sliding his cheek against Napoleon’s and whispering in his ear, “Are you ready for me, Napoleon? Do you want me to take you?”

The older man cried out and bit his lip, his own need to be dominated frightening at times. April felt for him, and gritted her teeth against answering for him. Illya pushed his cock against the opening, but merely teased him with it, not entering until given permission.

“Yes, Illya. Yes, I want you. Inside me.”

Before the last word left his lips, Illya breached him, sliding inside with inexorable slowness, taxing the resolve of both of them. The lube made the glide painless, but Illya was so close, he forced himself to take it slow, wanting to feel Napoleon surrounding him, grasping his cock with the tight sheath of his willing body. It took everything Solo had not to push back into that mastering cock, the wonderful heat and pressure of it. He growled instead, and April had to move, had to touch herself. She ran her hands across her breasts, watching the long line of Illya’s erection disappear into Napoleon, watching Illya press Napoleon’s back down, bowing his spine, allowing him to push in another inch or two. Illya felt his balls snug up against Solo’s, and knew he was all the way in. He didn’t dare thrust yet, just held there, glorying in the connection to his lover. There was nothing like this, nothing like the hot welcoming slide of Napoleon’s passage. He loved women, too, but the power of taking another man, another equal, the play of muscle against muscle, will against will, would never be eclipsed. The fact that Napoleon Solo, his best friend and superior, apparent womanizer extraordinaire, would allow him, no, _need_ him to subjugate his will to bring him pleasure never ceased to boggle him. Illya slid his hand across the slick skin of his partner’s back, soothing him and giving him an outlet for the affection swelling inside him for this man. But that wasn’t what Napoleon really wanted tonight. Illya sighed and stepped back into the role he’d play here.

He reached underneath Napoleon, collected the straining phallus and felt the steel of him. He looked over at Dancer, playing with herself, wet and slick and wanting, and a wicked idea came to him. He pulled halfway out and grasped the root of his cock hard, squelching his need to come for the moment. He slid across Solo’s back again, speaking in his ear loudly enough for Dancer to hear. “Someone’s feeling left out, _Polya_. I think we can come to an accommodation, _da_?” He punctuated his question with a deep thrust and Solo groaned, Illya feeling it inside his clenching passage.

“ _Da_ , _da_ , very _da_ ,” Solo moaned and Illya smiled, beckoning April with a crook of his finger. He pulled reluctantly out of Solo, scooting back enough to make room for Dancer underneath Napoleon’s thrumming body. She lay beneath him, kissing him as he pushed her legs up, his elbows under her knees, lifting her for an easier entry. He mouthed her breasts one at a time, suckling them eagerly, needing more contact now that Illya’d left him. He felt the hot breath of his Russian next to his ear, and he shivered with the sensation. “Take her, Napoleon. Push that fat cock into her and ride her like I’m going to ride you.”

Both of them grunted hearing the command in Kuryakin’s voice, and Solo locked his gaze on Dancer’s face as he did just that, working his shaft inside the velvety smooth wetness that was Dancer’s core. She watched as he filled her, taking his time, making her want more of him, urging him on with hands at his hips, pulling him even deeper into her. She felt the burn of his possession, the almost-pain of his girth, but she was so ready, so wanton and wet that she took it all, everything he had to give her. Once fully sheathed, Napoleon pulled back part way and then thrust into her again, feeling the grasp of her tightness surrounding him as he had surrounded Illya minutes before. He pulled further out this time, watching her juices glistening on his cock as he pushed back into her, then settled on a slow and steady rhythm, the pleasure nearly overwhelming him.

He felt strong hands move under his hips, and heard Illya again instructing him, slowing his roll. “Put her legs on your shoulders. Get up on your knees.” Once April’s legs were higher, Solo slid back inside, deeper than before, and April panted at the feel of his broad cockhead butting up against her cervix. It caused a buzzing sensation deep inside her and she whimpered, knowing it would only get better in a big hurry. Illya knelt between Solo’s legs, pushing them apart, arrogantly opening them for his return. He held his cock as he pushed into the pucker, slammed home in one motion, making Solo cry out in welcome, feeling the long cock fill him again, piercing him to the core as he did April. Once joined as deeply as possible, Illya began to thrust slowly but steadily, waiting for Napoleon to catch up and match the motions into Dancer. They began to move then, the back and forth counterpoint creating a loop in the three joined bodies, their pleasure feeding off one another, passing through Napoleon’s body as he gave and received, gave and received. Solo thought he would die from the sheer bliss, giving the control to Kuryakin, who gripped his hips bruisingly, pushing him away and then dragging him back onto his plunging cock, using his body for his own satiation. April writhed like a wild thing beneath him, animal sounds forced out of her by his mastery of her body, like Solo, along for the ride of her life. Combined with the deep guttural grunts of Illya behind him, it was the sound of their lovemaking that threatened to be his undoing, and he dropped his head onto Illya’s sweating shoulder, preparing to accept the inevitable.

Illya sank his teeth into Solo’s neck directly over his jugular, licked the skin and then detached, giving him one last order while he still had the breath in his body to form the words. “Don’t come yet. Not until I do. Do you understand? Together. All of us.” Solo nodded tightly and Illya breathed out in relief, his ability to speak deserting him rapidly. “Now, _Polya_. We go, _duvai_ , _duvai_. Dance with me.”

Illya pulled nearly out, the clutch of Solo’s craven flesh trying to retain his, constricting on his flaring head. He waited until Solo pushed back onto him, then rammed home, rutting into Napoleon, pistoning in and out, pushing him forward hard enough to have a ripple effect on his plunges into Dancer, all of them losing their identities in each other, crying out and hearing answering voices, uncaring and unknowing where one of them began or another ended. Nearly symbiotic now, they propelled each other closer and closer to the white hot oblivion waiting for them.

Illya shuddered, feeling it happening, and picked up the pace, shouting to his lovers, “ _Now_ , _now_ , _now_ …” as he slammed hard into Solo, as Solo impaled Dancer one last time, bringing his fingers down to her clit, flicking them against her, bringing her off as well. As one they screamed, the orgasm ripping from them, Illya’s come blasting through him to fill his Napoleon’s ass, as Solo ejaculated into Dancer, pulsing into her as she pulsed against him, her body contracting around him as his grasped Illya. Round and round the spiral of passion peaked and ebbed, peaked and ebbed, until they quivered in its grip, nervous systems overloading, muscles tremoring, throats convulsing with shouts of ecstasy.

At last, Illya slumped against Napoleon’s back, and Napoleon lowered April’s shaking legs, settled his enervated body to lie between them, the three of them panting harshly, trying to pull in enough air to come down from the high. They were still joined, neither man having the strength or the will to separate, wanting to stay where they were forever. Too soon, Solo felt Illya slip from his body, his come running out as he clenched, trying to hold his lover’s essence inside, wanting to keep something from this encounter for himself. He was still hard in April, and she seemed fine with it, snuggling against him holding his head on her breasts. He managed to rock slightly back and forth into her, feeling Illya draped across his back, their fluids cementing them together. Solo’s strength glued them together as well, the shallow thrusting giving them a sense of belonging, the satiety of the post-coital phase tender and sweet. He didn’t seem to be softening, so he kept it up until he finally felt himself draw back, pulling out of Dancer with a soft sucking sound that made her groan, bereft. Solo reached around and pulled at Illya’s hip, pushing him gently to the side, so they could lie in a tangled heap, spooning alongside each other, Solo a sated puddle of goo in the center.

Too soon, Illya rolled away, lying on his back, separating himself from the other two, feeling he didn’t deserve the tenderness, that the control he’d exerted over Solo somehow excluded him from their solicitude.

Solo felt the loss, and turned from April to look at Illya. “Where the hell are you going?” he asked, rolling on his other side to watch Illya’s expression. He saw the look, recognized it and then said, “Get back in here.” And, just like that, the pendulum swung back, and Solo was on top once again. He pulled Illya by his hand, tugged him across his cooling body, and held him there, enjoying the warmth of his Russian spread atop him. He took his chin and then kissed him tenderly, slowly, telegraphing just what the younger man meant to him. Illya sighed in acceptance and laid his head on the broad chest.

April’s eyes pricked with tears, watching them together. She reached out and placed a hand on them both, the tears spilling down her cheeks. Napoleon wiped them away, and then growled, “In between us, now, _Illyusha_.” He went willingly, craving what he could only get from these two, but unable to show it easily.

Solo nestled up against the sleek body, and April slid back into him until they were curled up as one. Napoleon draped his arm across them both, cupping April’s hip in his palm. Illya slid one arm under hers, insinuating his palm underneath her breasts, feeling the warm weight pressing down on the back of his hand. She purred like a kitten and the boys smiled, utterly content. Napoleon snagged the covers and pulled them over the three of them.

lllya felt the stirring of Solo’s cock against his ass, and he shook his head, then began to laugh. “You’ll never change, Napoleon.”

April reached back with her free arm, and felt what Illya was bemused about. “From your mouth to God’s ear,” she added, then drifted to sleep, safely in their keeping.


End file.
